Deliverance
by Starling Del Rey
Summary: When Casey returns to New York, she learns that just when you think things can't get any worse, they do. Set during her last year of suspension. C/OC, C/A.
1. Prologue

**an**: So, my solution to not updating any of my other stories is to create a new multi-chapter one. This one is a bit different for me. It's weird to write. And I spent like two hours trying to decide if I should leave this first chapter as is or add more and I've settled on as is, because more didn't work. So, it's a vague little introduction that I tried to make make sense. I'm sorry if it doesn't! Just know that I am excited about this story.

**Disclaimer**: I obviously do not own Dick Wolf's characters. Any characters you don't recognize belong to me. Some of the places mentioned are real, some are not. Rated M for language and violence. All mistakes belong to me.

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**Prologue**

All throughout my life, I've always had plans. I am by no means an I-dotting T-crosser, but I've always tried my best. As a child, I planned on being a veterinarian like most children do. When I got a little older, my plans were centered around boys and Saturday nights. Suddenly I was a senior in high school and the plans I had weren't so insignificant. I planned on Harvard and a law degree. I planned on working for the state of New York, fighting the same good fight my daddy believed in all his life. And for a while, that's exactly what I did. But things don't always go as planned; sometimes, a bad idea is a bad idea, no matter how well versed it may seem.

As an officer of the court, I think the first and most important rule is that you do not lie. There is bending the truth, bending the rules, but you do not outright lie. And by withholding the information that I did, I blatantly lied. That earned me a three year suspension, with the possibility of disbarment. I was told that I was lucky. I was also told that I should have been disbarred. I'm inclined to disagree with both statements, the latter for obvious reasons, and the former because I don't feel very lucky. I've lost everything. My career had been my life. I was so involved in my work, and unhealthily so. The DA's office had swallowed me whole and I didn't know what to with myself when I was finally spit out.

I'd like to think that what I did was for the greater good, that I sent some sort of message into the universe. You can't always get away with the bad that you do. Eventually, someone is going to put their foot down. But my voice is small in this world, and I've learned there is always something to lose.

My dignity was the second thing to go. Losing that is never-ending; there will always be something to take you down a notch. First, it had been the assistant job I was fired from when I refused my boss's advances. Then it had been the bartending job I scrambled to find in an attempt to save my apartment. Next came being groped in the supply closet by a drunken customer promising me a pretty hundred dollar bill if I let him proceed, which was quickly followed by a sudden revelation: this is the way the world works. Sex sells. Money is power. Even though he was curtly thrown to the curb, and the girls were fussing over me to make sure I was okay, I was deeply upset. I was an attorney fighting in a goddamn war. I had the opportunity to exercise my intelligence and talents – I was important. What I did was important. I genuinely helped people. I gave peace of mind to victims and total strangers. And now, I fight small battles just to stay afloat without the slightest clue as to who I am anymore. I was lucky to have what I did, because in the real world, being groped by the same drunk happens more often than not.

I won't call myself privileged, but I was comfortable growing up. The worst things to ever happen to me were a semi-absent father and watching my big brother shoot our family dog after she had gotten into rat poisoning. Even during my time at the DA's office, I didn't know the evil I dealt with on a personal level. It took me leaving to become truly acquainted with it. I had been protected by the one-way mirrors of the interrogation rooms, courtroom bailiffs, and intuitive detectives. If I knew someone who wasn't a lawyer, they were legally armed. When a perp threatened me, it held no merit. So it took me a while to remember that I wasn't invincible, that I couldn't and shouldn't stand tall to the creep on the subway. That getting my point across isn't the most important thing for every moment. The hardest part about all of it was seeing the things I saw, and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Witnessing a crime, however petty, and sitting idly by not doing a damn thing with a city full of people pretending they don't see it too is the hardest thing to handle.

I often wonder how many people have been silenced like I have, how many of them had so much to say before they too realized that it's all pointless. I had sought out the company of like-minded individuals, ones that let me talk about the new found hate I had for nearly everything. Carmen had been my favorite from the get-go. She's a whole eight years younger than me, but she's seen more. Been through more. It makes for an old soul. Our age difference isn't so bad, but I can never think of her as anything other than just a kid. And somehow, we are on the same level. Struggling with money and our emotions brought us together though, and I figure that's universal enough to where I don't need to question my maturity.

For a while, the only time we were together was spent at the bar. Our shift would end at 2am, and we'd be drunk by half after. We'd play pool until the sun came up, both of us too leery of the dark. We did this every night until my last night there.

My last night came after I met a man who could not be silenced. He pulled that same damn drunk off me one Friday night and sent him face first into the wall behind us. He laughed at the shocked expression I wore and I believe that was what set this mess into motion. He introduced himself as Jay and asked if I was alright. It wasn't long before he became home for me.

Jay is a tough man, with fists like god and a temper like the devil. And you never get one without the other. He is my salvation though. He is the thing that keeps me together, ironically enough. He is not afraid to put me in my place. Sometimes I love that he isn't afraid of me or my words, that he loves me even when I'm mean. But in those same times, I hate that I can't instill the fear I could before. I hate that I've lost the ability to defend myself. And out of spite, I pick fights with him, knowing full well I won't win. I just want him to be as angry as I feel.

He tries to make a life for us, tries to keep us from struggling. And I know he loves me with every beat of his selfish heart. Amidst his tries, he fails over and over. Not because of luck or anything even remotely sincere, but because he likes the taste of anything sour. With drinking came the ocean of troubles he can't keep away from. An ocean he is drowning me in.

I don't know exactly what it was that he did, but four months after I met him, and after spending nearly every night with him, he asked me to see California with him. He said the city of angels was calling our names, and I said I wanted a fresh start. He promised me one, too.

The thing is, drinks are always in our hands, coast to coast.


	2. Hellish

_Winter_

For two years, trouble followed us to Los Angeles and back. I never once felt as though I was starting over. Each city was a continuation of New York. I was met with disappointment and frustration with every new town, every new person. Which is exactly why I didn't share the same enthusiasm as Jay did when we saw the '_Atlantic City: always turned on'_ overpass sign. I can't share in the excitement he has for heading into the city, either.

"Jeez Casey, how long are you gonna stare out the window and pout? I thought you'd be happy." The tone of his voice lets me know he's bothered that his effort goes unappreciated.

"You're crazy if you think a night in Brooklyn, of all places, is going to magically make me forgive and forget." The venom in my voice lets him know that he has messed up, and that I will not let him forget it.

"I wish you'd live in the moment. Do you know how much emotion and time you waste when you sit and sulk over the past? Look how tired you are. I hate seeing a frown on your pretty face. What's done is done and you can't change that."

I may constantly remind him of his mistakes, but I am a lot more prone to forgiveness. I smile weakly at him and he takes what he can get. He grabs my hand and squeezes it, reassuring me things will work out. They'll be alright.

"Okay," I sigh. "I'll try to relax a little." He gives me a hard stare and I try not to laugh. "I will."

"That's my girl."

Jay isn't nearly as cynical as I am. It's the thing I love most about him. The thing I wish I had. But sometimes, he is so carefree and he never thinks about the consequences. I didn't realize how bad whimsy can be until it was too late.

When we first left New York, I had been eager for a new beginning. I was excited to see a clear sky and palm trees and to get my life back. I had this ridiculous fantasy in my head that somehow, life would fall back into place. I wouldn't feel so empty on the other side of the country. And I could have been right, but by the time we reached California my views on life changed drastically. With each new state we passed through came a new outlook. For me, it was hard to stay positive. It was hard to be so thrilled about a new life when the road to it was just as hard, if not harder, than what I had back east. For Jay, it was an exciting experience. A challenge every hundred miles.

It wasn't what I thought it'd be. Constantly being on the road is tiring and it leaves with you with too much time to yourself. Too much time alone with your thoughts. Its why I was relieved when Jay suggested we stay a little longer in Las Vegas.

I was relieved until "a little longer" turned into nearly two years. And those two years were the most hellish thing I've experienced as of yet.

Jay flashes me a mischievous grin before pulling down a familiar street. "I knew we were going to The Bandit."

"It's our first week back, baby. We gotta drop by. Larry and Spider miss you."

My man is also fairly selfish. He likes to cover up doing what he wants when he wants by saying its for me. And he knows I was suspicious before we even left home, and that now I'm very displeased.

"They're big boys, I think they can manage without us for one more night." I say as he pulls up to the curb. "Take me somewhere new, Jay. Please?"

"You can't do the pouty lip thing, Case. That's a low blow... fine! We'll go in for a minute and I'll take you somewhere else."

I can't help but to roll my eyes. Like I haven't heard that before.

"Just a few minutes." He says one last time before getting out of the car. I unenthusiastically follow suit, slamming the door shut. He gives me a dirty stare before heading for the sleazy bar.

Spider, who absolutely refuses to go by his birth name of Michael, immediately greets us with shit talk, all in good fun. Jay knows quite the handful of colorful characters, but he's my favorite. A Boston native, Spider has a quick wit and while he is painfully honest at times, he is good to his core. And I love that he always greets me with a "hey mama".

"Glad to have you back. How you likin' Atlantic City?"

"Jersey is a fucking joke." I tell him, striking Jay's nerve.

"Well excuse me miss uptown broad, but unless you can make it rain cash, we can't afford a nice little high rise in the city. How about you stop being so fucking ungrateful, huh? Why can't you see all the shit I do for you?"

"You're such an ass."

"And you're a bitch. We go together like fuckin' cake and ice cream."

"Charming." Spider says, shutting our little repartee down. He knows this is the way Jay is, but like me, he often disagrees with his behavior.

**...**

A few minutes has turned into one hour, four beers, and three shots for Jay and Spider, and the stranger that has joined us. I sit on the outside of the table looking for my reflection in my glass of bourbon. The boys are deep into their conversation when Larry shows up. He slides his arm around me, says he's glad to see me, and I can't help but to shudder in discomfort. Jay calls him over, knowing how uncomfortable he makes me. In the time I've known him, he's done nothing short of creep me out.

They don't seem to acknowledge I'm here, and after several failed attempts to gain Jay's attention, I slide out of my chair.

"Where are you goin'?" He asks when he realizes I'm leaving the table.

"To smoke."

**...**

I'm on my second cigarette when I really start to feel the cold. I'm pissed that I've been at this damn bar for so long, and honestly that I'm here at all. I don't know why I expected anything different; things typically end up this way. I'm over going out. All I want to do is go home, but as I hear the beginnings of an argument from a very familiar voice, I know that isn't going to happen any time soon.

The stranger at our table stumbles out towards me and the alley with Jay close behind. The former is clearly angry, but he's walking away from a potential fight, cursing under his breath. When it comes to the latter, that is not something you do. Not when he's tapped into his own deep seated anger.

Jay quickly grabs the other man, who is exceptionally more intoxicated than he is, by the the neck of his jacket. He stumbles towards him, swinging and cussing, but his efforts are pointless. Jay knocks him down, straddles him, and starts whaling on him.

My throat is sore by the time someone hears me screaming for him to stop. It's Spider who hears me, and only because he had decided to step outside for a smoke of his own. He's quick to pull Jay off of the man, something I tried and failed to do.

"What the hell did you do?"

Jay doesn't answer, only runs his hands through his dark hair as he realizes what he's done. His eyes are wide as he stares at the motionless body on the ground, and the blood seeping from his head. I'm crying when he looks at me. I'm scared of him and for him, but my conscience kicks in when he tells Spider they need to dump the body.

"Are you crazy!? You have to call an ambulance!" My voice breaks as I shake. "You have to do something for him."

Spider looks at him with a face similar to mine, one that says you have to call someone. But Jay only ignores me.

I find a payphone across the street near our car and use my jacket sleeve to grip the phone. I know there must be thousands of fingerprints all over it, but I don't want mine to be a part of them. I dial 911 with shaky hands at the same time Jay notices my absence. Tears stain my cheeks as I try to vaguely describe what's happened to the operator before he reaches me.

I'm yanked away from the phone and down the side of the building. He pushes me against the wall hard enough to hurt, his hands on either side of my face. I've never seen his eyes look so wild as he stares into mine.

"Jay..."

"You shut the fuck up Casey, you hear me? You keep your mouth fucking shut." He hits the wall beside my face and I flinch. "I own you, you're mine and you do what I say, got that?" I nod and he backs away from me, and begins to pace. "You know if I get arrested for this, you're fucked. I mean it! You can't live without me..."

He rambles on like this for a few more minutes as I stay exactly how he left me. I don't know what to do other than try to keep quiet as I cry. He stops in front of me, staring at me like he wants to comfort me but is afraid to.

The hard look he wore just a few moments prior returns when we hear the sirens in the distance. He stares at me in a way that terrifies me inside and out, and I mouth an apology. He grabs me again, this time demanding I get in the car. He peels out and we pass the patrol car a few blocks down. He breathes deep when he's sure we aren't being followed.

"Was he dead?" I ask after a long bout of silence.

"Ya." Is all he says. He looks over at me and the scared expression on my face. He finds my hand in the dark and holds on to it, and I want to cry again when I feel the dried blood on him.

I don't know what the consequences will be for us. If we'll get caught, if Spider will do the right thing or not. In court, this would be easy. But things are different now and I'm not a lawyer anymore.

I don't know what's going to happen.

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**an**: Thank you guys for the reviews and follows/favorites! They're appreciated for sure. Forgive the excessive cursing (even though I don't really consider it excessive), and the general shittyness of this chapter. Also, some secondary characters are important here, so remember them. ;) In the next chapter: Things between Casey and her man get even worse, Carmen returns, and Cabot finally shows up.


	3. Victim

**an**: This one is a long one! Things are set into motion... I hope you enjoy.

**an2**: I love, love your reviews. I think all of you said the same thing: "what has she gotten herself into?". But really, thank you to those who have taken the time to read, and especially review. I like those. They keep me motivated (I'm actively updating you guys this never happens!). And also thank you for not flaming me. I was/am a little nervous about this story.

**Disclaimer**: The news story about the car crash, that was taken directly off . It's a real story, and I did not write those words. Dick Wolf's characters are, you know, his.

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It's 5am when I finally give up on sleep. It's still very dark, but I can hear the birds outside. Jay is sleeping soundly beside me and I make no effort to be careful as I get out of bed. The alcohol helps him sleep, and that is the one good thing it does for him.

The floor creaks as I make it through the dark hallway of our double-wide, feeling the walls for a light switch as I head it into the kitchen. Moving into a trailer park is by far one of my more humiliating moments. I hated the idea when Jay mentioned it to me and I hate it now. On the inside, I suppose it looks like any other home. Paintings and family photos adorn the walls, all of course belonging to me. All the knickknacks and plants, dishes and blankets... they belong to me too. Even the furniture is mine. On the outside, we have a real yard and a front porch - things I haven't had in a home since I was a child. But none of this changes the fact that this is a downgrade, that this is where meth labs have been discovered and arguments are for everyone to hear. This is absolutely the ghetto. It could always be worse, Jay tells me this often. But that does nothing for me or my situation. I say let them get worse. I'm not afraid. I've got something to prove.

At the kitchen table, cigarette in hand, I'm reminded of my mother. She used to do this very thing when I was young. She smoked for breakfast while eggs cooked for us kids, and I'd sit in the silence with her. When she was angry with my daddy, she'd quickly forgive and forget. She said whoever angers you is who controls you. And we all knew who was boss in that house. It's unclear to me who is the dominant one in this house.

I wonder, if she knew what exactly was going on, if she'd be proud of me for staying strong, for staying by my man's side when things get rough. Or if she'd be disappointed. Sad, even. My parents did not raise weak children, but I have never felt so weak in my life. I do not think what I've done with Jay or for him is a strong choice. It says that I'm a fool. But I find solace in the fact that I've done everything he's wanted me to. Sometimes I think, love is like that. We make sacrifices for those we love, we do things we may disagree with because it makes our loved ones happy. And if I can't be happy, at least I can make him happy.

Sometimes though, I think I am powerless. I think he has a hold on me, that he's using everything I've ever said to him, ever given to him, against me. But I don't think he realizes what he does, or that he's taken a part of me that I don't think I'll ever get back. I know he loves me, but I think the thing he knows as love is warped. As a child, he was subjected to violence. His parents are no good and he was left to fend for himself. He wants to be good, but I don't think he's sure what that truly means. And it's hard not to give him an excuse.

When I tell him he's twisted he reminds me that I am too. He tells me that I've got the same warped view on the world, if not from my parents then from my profession. He isn't wrong and that scares me.

In Vegas, I was his monster. My crimes were petty, especially when it comes to Jay, but that didn't change the way I felt. The way I still feel. We hustled and stole, scammed our way through the town. It was everything I am against, and I felt as though I was dying inside. I lost myself, but it was only after he began pushing drugs that I spiraled out of control. I put Jay to shame with how much I drank, and he filled our home with enough uncut cocaine to gain the attention of the FBI. Between running his "business" and keeping me under control, he began to lose his patience.

But I was always taught that you take the good with the bad, and that's exactly what I did. He took care of me then, when I was hungover and when I had lost our savings in the casinos. I understood when he choked me out of frustration, and when he left me seeing stars on the floor out of anger. He understood when my reaction each and every time was to call 911. I forgave him for losing control and he forgave me for the exact same thing.

When our run in Nevada finally did end, it ended fast. We left everything behind the same day he made the decision to leave. Before I knew it, we were headed west and I was so happy to finally see California that I never once stopped to realize we were running.

Not until now. Los Angeles had been paradise. Two weeks of bliss, and yet we had run just as fast from that too. I can't help but to wonder what damage he's done elsewhere.

I am startled from my thoughts when Jay comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. "Good morning, pretty girl."

He looks at me curiously when I don't respond. I am disgusted that he is as upbeat as he is, that he seems unphased by all that has happened. How can he not care?

"Tell me something hunny," My tone is far too dry for his liking and he frowns. "what was the real reason we left Vegas? And LA for that matter?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" He steps away from me and I turn to face him.

"Did you kill someone then too? Are you so fucked up that you have no regard for someone's life?" I'm shouting at him and I can see the rage boiling in his eyes. "You can't hide behind the fact that your mommy never loved you, Jay. You're a grown man, get over it."

He lunges for me, grabbing me by my face and squeezing. We are nose to nose and I can feel his breath hot on me as he tries to express his anger verbally. I know what I'm starting, but I can not excuse murder.

"You think you're so high and mighty? Like you have no part in this?" I've heard his voice this unsteady before, but I can feel the fear in the pit of my stomach.

"I never killed anyone!" I try to push him back but he never loses his grip on me.

He pulls me from the chair and I try to keep as much space between us as possible. He has me, but not all of me, and that only infuriates him further. He pulls me toward him and into the wall. I hit the floor with a thud, the shattered remnants of a picture frame beside me. I can already feel the blood running down the side of my forehead.

He is quick to straddle me in the same way he did to the man from two nights ago. A wave of panic falls over me; I could die today. He could kill me and not think anything of it until its too late. I begin to yell at him, begging him to stop, but he is too far gone. He slaps me to shut me up before getting into my face once again. He screams at me, tells me I'm pathetic, that I'm just as much of a low life as him, that I'm lucky he hasn't put me in my place yet. Every few words he hits me and I cry out. It's one hard blow that sends me into the dark... and suddenly, I don't feel him on me. I am in and out, but I can see him walking away around the same time I hear sirens.

When I come to, a New Jersey police officer is hovering over me. She smiles at me as my eyes come into focus.

"I'm Officer Sauer. Can you tell me your name?" She is kind and sympathetic, a refreshing change. She lets me sit up and I cringe in pain.

"Casey. My head feels like it's going to explode." I tell her. She nods in understanding, but her eyes give her away.

"I'm surprised you're even conscious right now." She helps me up and into a chair at the table, then takes a seat herself. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

"I... uh..." I stumble over my own words for a moment. This never gets any easier to explain, never gets any less embarrassing. "We got into it. He's stronger than I am, so... you know... he wins."

She sighs at my bitterness, my lack of information, and watches me rest my head in my hand. I'm frightened by the amount of blood down my face, and now in my hand.

"It's a small cut above your eyebrow. Head wounds bleed a lot." She informs me and I breathe a little easier. "What started the fight?"

"I don't really remember now." I lie. "I'm assuming you have him in custody."

She nods. "He was waiting on the porch when we got here."

"Who called you?"

"One of your neighbors."

I sigh and after assuring her I don't need medical help, she tells me they're taking him to jail, but that he'll most likely make bail within a day or two. It isn't anything new. I've heard it already. I've sicked the police on him before, sent him to jail myself. I'm thankful that, this time, it isn't me sending him away.

I watch from the front porch as he's shoved into the back of the car. I hear him say that I just make him crazy sometimes. He can't help himself. But the male cop offers no sympathy.

And frankly, neither do I. Not this time.

**...**

Tell me I'm pretty. Make me laugh. Tell me you love me. Show me. Take me somewhere nice. Promise me the world, promise me those diamonds. Get into trouble, steal them. Hold me down. Tell me you own me. Prove it. Call me Hunny and say you're sorry. I'm yours...

The cycle is never ending. I don't know what to call it anymore. Screwed up? Normal? I don't remember what anything else is like. I know it hasn't been that long. Two years is nothing compared to my thirty. Two years is nothing. But it feels as though my entire existence now revolves around seven hundred-something days, and counting.

It's been fourteen hours that I haven't left the house. I've done nothing between this morning and now, nothing but stay in bed. It's still cold under the covers without Jay. It seems as though I can't create body heat on my own and it frustrates me that I don't feel whole without that stupid man. I want to make a list of things I've forgotten how to do for myself because of him.

Instead, I toss the comforter aside, quick to get on my feet and into the kitchen. I crank up the heat on my way, but I have little faith in the heater. My original intention was to make coffee, but I easily notice the small bottle of vodka sitting on the counter and without a second thought, I reach for it. I want to be warm, and this will do just that.

I drop onto the couch and drink what I can only assume is the amount of one shot, straight from the bottle. It's strong and it burns all the way down my chest, and I can't help but to wonder what it'd feel like to die under a pair of angry fists.

My mind wanders to the countless victims I've met over the years. Their testimonies were heartbreaking, their hysteria contagious. They were undoubtedly victims of something monstrous. I wonder what that makes me. Like them, I am familiar with the police. I am familiar with interrogation and procedure. I know every inch of what comes after an arrest. I know the satisfaction of justice. I know disappointment and fear when guilty men walk. I know what it's like to be scared, hanging on to myself in the dark while a uniform asks about a cut or something broken. I am familiar with being so scared that I am brave.

However, I am not a victim. I am mouthy and naïve. I am an instigator, but never a victim. It's people like me that make it harder for the real victims. I know my ex-colleagues would agree. I can't escape this, and I have no reason for that. There is no barrier here, no fence keeping me from leaving. I'm here because it's where I belong. I'm a bad person, and here, I am loved anyway. I don't think I was always this way, but I've done the wrong thing too many times to be good anymore.

**…**

"_Two people are dead and another is injured after a car speeding down the New Jersey Turnpike at more than 125 miles per hour with police on its tail smashed into a minivan last night. According to police, the speeding car hit at least three other vehicles over the course of 17 miles before rear-ending the van. Both vehicles were up in flames by the time officials arrived on the scene. The driver of the car suffered minor injuries, but the unidentified people in the van weren't so lucky..."_

I sit quietly on the couch listening to the anchorman on scene with a frown on my face. Carmen sits beside me, the now empty bottle of vodka in her lap. We've been watching various news broadcasts for the better part of the hour, for reasons unknown to her. I'm hoping to see something about the stranger I watched die. I want to believe he's cared for enough to be missed and viciously so. No one deserves to be a Doe in the morgue, cast away to Hart Island with nothing but a serial number to remember them by. But I have yet to see anything.

"Why does that always happen?" Carmen asks, a sort of hollowness in her voice.

"What?"

"Why is it that the bad guys always end up lucky? That idiot killed two people, and he doesn't even have a broken limb. What kind of punishment is that?"

"Sometimes living with what you've done is punishment enough. Though, in his case, I imagine he'll be sitting in a prison cell for a while."

She scoffs, tucking her brown hair behind her ears. I'm about to change the channel when I hear it. My heart catches in my throat and I inhale sharply.

"_New York stock broker Jarred Bellows is set to stand trial this month after being accused of rape and unlawful imprisonment earlier in the year. Manhattan District Attorney's office had little say on the case, but it is confirmed that senior ADA Alexandra Cabot will be sitting first chair..."_

Carmen looks as though she too has seen a ghost, but she is quick to compose herself. I wish I could say the same for myself.

"What is it?" She asks, looking back and forth between me and the television.

I sink in my seat. "That used to be me."

She looks at me, thoroughly confused, before I can say anything else. For a minute, I'm silent. I can't take my eyes away from footage of the courthouse steps and the familiar faces.

"That used to be my title." I tell her. "I was senior ADA Novak, for the sex crimes unit and the people of New York." I say bitterly, but she ignores my tone.

"Were you good?" She asks me, and I find it to be an odd question.

"Very."

Rather than ask me the usual 'what happened', she asks something far more strange. "That Bellows guy... what do you think his chances are? Do you think he'll get lucky too?" She looks at me with a sort of hopefulness in her brown eyes.

"He might." She looks defeated when I tell her the truth. "Barry Mordock is a very good defense attorney. He'll give Cabot a run for her money." She nods and turns back to the screen. "But, he is defeatable."

"Is that how trials work? It's all based on who is the better lawyer?"

"Sometimes, yeah. When there isn't a lot of evidence, it's her word against his. And when someone has as much money and influence as he does, they can speculate ulterior motives."

"Ulterior motives? She was raped. How can they pin that on her?"

I don't know how to answer her, how to explain that it's so much more than that. Sex crimes had been many different shades of gray, never too close to white or black. She frowns at my silence but seems to understand why I don't answer.

"The prosecutor, Cabot?" She's trying to find her words, that much I can tell. "Is she any good? Would you trust her?"

"I've only met her once or twice." I shrug. "But I'm willing to bet she's the best the DA's office has right now."

I want to ask why when Carmen nods. She absentmindedly throws her coat on and starts toward the front door. I watch, waiting for an explanation, preferably something that dispels the sinking feeling in me, but the only thing she says to me is that he is guilty.

**…**

It's nearly eleven o'clock by the time Alex Cabot realizes she hasn't had nearly enough coffee throughout the day. She is utterly exhausted, but she can't bring herself to put down the case file in front of her. Jarred Bellows is a guilty man, she knows this deep in her gut. But the court doesn't recognize her gut feeling as a suitable argument, so here she is working well into the next day trying to find anything she may have missed.

Bellows's accuser is a young exotic dancer and she knows the defense is going to rip her to shreds. She has a record herself for petty theft, but Alex knows a victim when she sees one. Even her detectives are behind Evelyn Reyes. Her story is consistent, her emotions are real. At this point in the case, there is no reason not to believe her. The problem, however, is that there is little evidence against the defendant. It's a he-said-she-said battle now, and those are never easy.

In the doorway of her office is perhaps the easiest break she has ever caught. "Ms. Cabot?"

"Yes?" She is nothing but curious as to what this woman is doing in her office.

"Can I sit?" She asks, still in the doorway. When the blonde nods her head, she quickly sits herself in front of the large oak desk. "I wasn't expecting you to be here. It's so late."

Alex doesn't know what to think of the awkward brunette across from her. "I could say the same for you." She leans forward and rests her chin on her hands. "What can I help you with?"

"How do I go about testifying against Jarred Bellows?"

The older woman tilts her head. "How do you know Mr. Bellows?"

There's a long silence before she speaks again, but when she does, it is all too liberating. "He raped me."

She tries to be sympathetic, but the brunette is wanting none of it. She sits up right, folding her hands in front of her before speaking again.

"My name is Carmen Harris. I know for a fact that Jarred Bellows is a rapist, and I want him to rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life."

Alex nods as though she is agreeing to see that Carmen's wish is fulfilled. She is, to an extent. Provided her account of what happened checks out, Cabot things her conviction has been handed to her on a silver platter.


	4. Bad

**AN**: Your reviews are awesome. Thank you, thank you! Here's a new chapter for you, as a gift for you kindness. You won't like it though. I hope this story isn't all over the place. The brain is like that, and it tends to show in my writing. Also, I love C/E to pieces, so don't be mad that I put a little friendship in here. This is still A/C, just let me have my fun.

**Disclaimer**: The source of the news article from the last chapter was cut out (stupid FF), so I'm saying it again. It's from Newser, and it happened in Ohio. Newser just seems like the type that might sue.

**iTrick**: That'd be the one!

**Sarainthewoods**: Thank you! I'm glad you like it. Also, you have a pretty dope avatar. I love it. I just wanted to let you know that. :)

* * *

"What we need from you is an official statement. You'll need to go down to the sixteenth precinct and talk to a detective. There'll be a lot of paperwork, and a lot of questions. Some very personal. Are you up for that?"

Carmen nods. She can tell this woman is trying her damnedest to be soft, but that it's not something that comes easy to her. She is curious as to what Casey would have been like. She seems stern enough, but her pout and those sullen green eyes always give her away. She's not as in control of her emotions as the blonde lawyer is. No, this woman is far more icy. Unlike the equally scary public servants she's met over the years, this one seems to be for what's right.

Leave it to Casey to know the most vicious, kind-hearted people out there.

Alex can see the turmoil running through Carmen's eyes. This girl wants to run and fight simultaneously – something that is entirely impossible to do. As she gets further into the process, she will pick one over the other and Alex hopes to be her backbone long enough to convince her to fight like hell.

"Why don't I take you down to the precinct now?"

**…**

_three days later..._

God is a cruel being.

He likes to watch his children suffer, I'm sure of it. I don't think Jay would be sitting on the steps of our front porch looking like hell if He didn't. He looks guilty and totally unaware of my presence at the other end of the walkway, despite the loud engine of his ol' Chevy just moments before. I stand there, staring at his hunched over form and the tattoos he wears so proudly until he finally looks up.

He watches me with the biggest smile I've seen on him, taking in that I'm wearing his favorite t-shirt and leaning against his prized black Nova. He never likes me to drive it, but when he's away, it's fair game. He seems to care less about anything like that though and I slowly walks towards him, my heart and my mind fighting over reason and the sheer need to be touched by him.

"Anyone in their right mind would've stayed away." I say, stopping at the very step he rests on. He flashes me another ridiculous smile, and it's infectious.

"Baby, don't you know I'm crazy?" We're like two dogs, staring each other down with a playful gleam in our eyes when he says this. He jumps up and takes me by the waist, spins me in a half circle like it's the perfect way to erase my memory. On days like today, when the sun is out and it's not so cold, it is.

He carries me inside and lays me down on the couch. Fingertips underneath my chin, he tilts my head to the side. I know he wants to see what he's done, and I know by the look in his baby blue's that he's awfully sorry.

"You can't keep doing this to me," My voice is quiet and he is all ears. "We're too close to home for this."

He raises himself up, his strong arms on either side of me and I can't help but touch him. He knows exactly what I mean. I could run into an old detective friend... I could run into family here. I don't know how to explain bruises, let alone ones I advertently ask for. And I could never explain to anyone how I could love a man like him. I don't understand it myself.

He looks down at me for a while, trying to figure out a way to answer the questioning look in my eyes. "I'm really lucky to have you, you know that?"

That's all he says before kissing me. The way he runs his hand through my hair and pulls a little, the hardness of his kiss and the way he touches my skin, like I'm all he'll ever need... I can tell he missed me. I know I'm the only thing on his mind.

I can't say I didn't miss him too. I want to, but he has planted himself in every part of me. His presence can make me do anything – including keep my faithful bouts of silence – both in love and fear.

Yes, baby. You are very lucky; the bad ones always are.

**…**

After her abrupt exit a few nights before, Carmen is the only thing on my mind. Unanswered phone calls and texts leave me worried. She is an unusual girl, a hard mind to read. I'm soft for her though, especially when she doesn't make me play psychic. Lately, it seems that's exactly what she's been doing though. I've always understood that she is fairly private, but sometimes, her eyes are screaming at me and I just want for her to be alright.

I'm oddly upbeat when I enter her apartment building in the lower east side of Manhattan, even when I'm forced to share my elevator ride with an elderly woman and her permanent frown. I have no reason to be – it's cold and gloomy outside and inside, I'm hanging on to warmth because I know the cold will catch up to Jay and I soon enough.

I'm at a steady pace until I catch sight of her door. It's open, just slightly, but open nonetheless. It could very well be her own doing, but my heart races anyway. I push the pale green door open to find an immaculate apartment, void of any humans.

I help myself inside, calling out her name as I do so. I begin to calm down when I realize I must sound like a character in a cheesy horror film. But I continue to check her bedroom, and finally, her bathroom. It's the only shut door, and when I open it, I am momentarily frozen.

Carmen is neck-deep in reddened water. That is the only thing running through my mind as my instinct kicks in. I don't fully notice that she's partially clothed or that the water is off and cold as I yank her from the tub. To me, it looks as though the deep cuts down her forearms are still bleeding, and I think I can save her. I try to put pressure on them, but the wounds are too large and her lips are too blue.

I don't realize the tears freely falling until she is blurred beneath me. I blink hard, opening my eyes to the only person I could call a friend, lying dead on ugly bathroom tiles. I'm squatting beside her, apologizing profusely as though it could bring her back to me. I want so goddamn badly to hold her and to have her well and alive, but instead I push myself off my feet and away from her, falling hard on my bottom.

I'm sobbing by the time I call the police, only calming myself long enough for the operator to understand me. I don't know how to process this. I didn't even know Carmen had wanted to die.

**…**

Melinda Warner, the county medical examiner, is the first and only face I recognize. She doesn't notice me, tucked away in the corner of the apartment with a loyal beat cop. Carmen's blood sticks to me like glue. The young officer has offered more than once to clean me up, but he can't quite pull me from my daze. My eyes are red and my cheeks stained with tears; I feel like I've cried every ounce of liquid I had in me.

But I am quickly alert as a swarm of uniforms enter the place. CSU scout the scene and begin setting up, and I start an inward panic. I know what this means, and yet I don't.

"Shit." Is the word spoken by the man that catches my undivided attention. Detective Tutuola stands directly in front of me, his eyes fixated on the dampness of my long hair and my blood-stained clothing. My blood-stained skin.

I nod, thinking that's the correct word for this sort of situation. Though I would have picked something a bit more harsh myself. He sits beside me, wrapping a protective but light arm around my shoulder.

"You okay?" It's all he can muster. He's just as surprised to see me, and though he is trying to act the part of the close friend he once was, his touch is awkward.

"No, I'm not fucking okay." I throw a hand up with my harsh tone, and he promptly removes his arm. He doesn't flinch, he doesn't scoot away, he just sits beside me. "What the hell is going on, Fin?" I look at him, eye to eye, scared shell of a crusader to detective, and he averts his gaze. And I think, that tells me all I need to know.

"I think you should come down to the station, Casey."

I say nothing, retreating to the deep corners of my mind. But I allow him to lead me gently by the arm. I don't take in my surroundings and I don't notice a damn thing until the cold nips at my face. It brings me back to reality, and my eyes trace over various vehicles, all lit up in reds and blues.

I can feel the pathetic brown eyes of John Munch tracing over me. He rushes over to his partner, to us, and they talk around me as though I'm not here. I suppose they're right, I'm not all here. Munch wants to console me; he's always been a softer soul like that. But I barely notice as I'm handed off to the older detective.

I stop in my tracks and jerk behind me when I hear the sound of wheels on concrete. Small wheels, belonging to a gurney that is in no rush. The body bag resting on it unravels me once more, and before I know it, John is whisking me away.

**...**

In the squad room, I am quickly ushered into the Captain's office. I assume it's a sort of accommodation so as not to scare me any further.

The rich colors and the smell of dust are comforting. They remind me of my own office in a way. I stand in the corner, feeling too much like a misplaced object, and lean against the wall. The shades are drawn – I am alone here and that's just as comforting as the room itself.

I peek through the blinds, watching the detectives in the bullpen discuss the situation at hand with shock etched on their faces. I close my eyes and try to forget the way Carmen's lifeless body felt in my arms when Elliot Stabler waltzes through the door.

A myriad of questions race through my mind, each stopping at the back of my throat. He grabs me and pulls me into a tight tug, and it is the first time in a long time that I'm not fearful of a man's rougher touch. But I am ultimately frustrated with the lack of information and the lack of speech in general.

"Why isn't anyone telling me anything?" I ask into his shirt. "I'm here, you know. I want answers." I feel like a whiny child and I hate myself for it, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"I know, Case. I'm sorry." He releases me, and then he pauses. It takes me all of two seconds to realize he's staring directly at the still-there wounds on my face, Jay's handiwork. I'm a deer caught in the protective, headlight-like gaze of someone I can not get away with lying to.

He's about to speak when one hundred-twenty pounds of insatiable fury and panic storms in, followed by a dutiful brunette detective, with the former who is ready to destroy whatever lays in her path.

* * *

**Next time**: Casey is tired of all the tiptoe-ing, and you finally get to see Casey and Alex interact, yay! You know me though, I'm not nice. Also, Jay and Casey fall into a routine very similar to the one they had in Vegas... thanks for reading (and reviewing)!


	5. Alarming

**AN**: Hope you guys are still liking this. Enjoy...

**Disclaimer**: Mistakes are mine. I own nothing. I like your reviews and feel the need to profusely thank you guys for them. So yeah, thanks.

* * *

Guilt settles in the pit of my heart as Alexandra Cabot spews her word vomit at us as. Her voice reminds me of the ones I'd hear in old black and white films; stoic and ever so proper, though somehow still alluring with every sentence. Perhaps it is because she thinks she's in the company of her own kind, but she is tactless with the way she scolds no one in particular. Elliot was a smart man to leave to when he did.

"Do you enjoy the sound of your voice, Cabot?" My own voice rasps like Eve Ardon. She almost seems stunned that she isn't someone I fear. I don't think she realizes we aren't in court. Sometimes I think it's hard to switch that part of your brain off. Regardless, I've had enough of her babbling.

"I want to know what the hell happened tonight." She looks directly at me, asserting that her word is final. In return, Detective Benson scolds her. The blonde's face softens, the poorest attempt at an apology I've ever seen.

My guilt is solely for letting Carmen die, for not doing enough. For not doing what I should have. I was so preoccupied with my own melodramatic bullshit that I chose to ignore hers.

"I think you have more answers than I do." I say quietly. "I thought she killed herself, but that's obviously not what happened. Is it?"

"Warner says there's no way she could have inflicted those wounds herself." Olivia, thank God for her. Always honest when I need her to be. "Casey, what happened?"

I sit up in the uncomfortable seat, the two women leaning against the desk in front of me. Olivia's eyes are soft, Alex's are simply impatient. I shrug, fighting back the tears, if I have any left. "I went to see her, to see if she was okay. Her door was open... the bathroom was the last place I checked. I saw her and I pulled her out... I thought maybe she was... I thought she might still... I knew those cuts weren't right." My voice cracks, but I remain whole. As whole as I can pretend to be for the remainder of my time here. "I don't know anything else."

Alex moves to the corner of the room, sighing in frustration. I can see the wheels spinning in her eyes when she walks past me and I find myself focused on her. I want to hear her voice tell me something familiar, like the laws on money laundering or the odd placement of Judge Terhune's furniture in his chambers. I want to hear her favorite arguments and her favorite cases in the off chance that I haven't heard of them. I want to hear legal jargon until my ears bleed, and I know she is the only person in the world right now that can do that for me.

"Casey..." Olivia's hand is on my shoulder. She's studying my face... my eyes... she wants me to pour my heart out like I have one.

"Was she raped?" My question is answered by a silent nod. I sink in my chair at the realization that I've failed Carmen. I may not have been as keen as a detective, but I worked sex crimes long enough to know the signs.

"She was going to testify for us next week."

"Against the Wall Street hot-shot." I already know. I knew the night she told me he was guilty, it just took a little for me to put two and two together. The little bit I reveal has Alex back by the detective's side.

"Did she tell you anything about it?" I've worn that same desperate look Alex has before. She grips the edge of the desk and I know she's worrying about the sanctity of her case.

I shake my head no. "She told me he was guilty when we saw him on TV. I don't remember much else."

"How long ago was this?" Alex is interrogating me like the cop she should have been.

"Monday."

"That was three days ago. You can't remember what happened three days ago? Do you even care what happened to your friend?" She raises her voice at me, leans into me like she has any right to, and I snap.

"You think I don't care? You think it was nothing for me to touch a corpse? That the last thing I did for her was let her walk out of my house knowing something was wrong? I was too drunk to even remember the last conversation I had with her. I fucked up, and she died. But pressing me for information I don't have isn't going to help the shitty argument you've thought up." My cheeks are wet as I stare at her. She's quick to read my eyes and before I know it she's excusing herself from the room.

"Case-"

I hold my hand up and Olivia puts her hands on her hips in frustration. "I don't want to hear it. Whatever it is you have to say, I don't care. I want to mourn my loss without your pity, okay?"

She nods knowing its useless arguing with someone like me.

"Someone, please take me back to my car. I want to go home."

**...**

It's Elliot who volunteers as my chauffeur. Of course it is. There isn't a doubt in my mind about what his intentions are. He wants to talk to me about my life and all the bruises it has given me recently. If I were in a better place, I'd say I miss him and his overprotective ways. But "a better place" is so hypothetical that I can only blame the cosmos now.

We sit in a heap of downtown traffic, the only sounds coming from the heater. My arms are crossed when he places a gentle hand on me in the darkness of his sedan, and I know he takes note of my subtle flinch. It frustrates me that I flinch at all.

"Sorry," I say with a meek smile. "I'm not usually this touchy." I touch his hand too - my attempt to let him know his kindness hasn't gone unappreciated.

"How are things?" He's so serious that I can't find an appropriate sarcastic remark. "We worry about you, Case. You fell off the face of the planet."

"That's usually what one does when they don't want to be found." He gives me a hard glare and I sigh. I'm too tired to fight him. "I was... embarrassed. Can you blame me?"

"No. I guess not."

It's quiet again, this time for an entire block of inching toward our destination. I can feel him watching me out of the corner of my eye as I dig through my purse. The entire process of lighting my cigarette is uncomfortable with his eyes on me and I comb my fingers through my hair in frustration.

"What? What do you want?" My tone comes out a lot harsher than I meant for it to as I crack a window. He cocks a brow at me, smirking, and I don't feel so bad for snapping again.

"Don't ya know those things will kill ya?"

"I've got a list of things longer than your arm that'll kill me first."

His face hardens as he lets my hostility fall on him . "What's going on, Casey? And don't feed me shit; I've had enough of that to last a lifetime. Who gave you that bruise?"

I go stiff, my body language betraying me. "Elliot... I think you've been working this unit too long."

"Dont patronize me." He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. I don't know why I'm surprised; it's an easy assumption to make. At first, I can't figure out how to deter him, how to lie to him. But then the words flow out of me without a second thought and I can feel beating of my heart in my head.

"I wouldn't let someone hurt me like that, El. I know better."

"We all know better." He sighs, knowing that our destination is close now and that I don't give information freely. "I know you're bad, tough Novak, and that you can take care of yourself... But Casey, it's okay to need help. It's okay to want it. Shit happens, I get that more than anyone. I just want you to know we're all here if you need us. Or want us. We've all been there..."

"Have you?" He clutches the steering wheel when hears the crack in my voice.

Silence.

**...**

Elliot's words cut into me like a knife over and over. They're all I can think about on my way home. The night is unusually dark and my headlights don't seem bright enough for the twists and turns of the highway. But I press on, my fingers cold and my knuckles white against the steering wheel. I just want to get home.

For a moment, I contemplate calling my mother. The comforting smell of Newports and the happiness thick in her voice is all too tempting. She'd be happy until she saw my face, and I know I can't go home to my parents. The bruises I've worn have never been that bad; I've never had to see the fluorescent lighting of the hospital. But any bruise at all is bad enough for my parents and I know that for as long as I have Jay, I can't have them.

The very real loss of Carmen brings to light everything else that's escaped me. I know my thoughts are selfish but I can't help but feel I'm all alone without her. She understood me when I couldn't and sat beside me through my frustrations... and there's nothing I can say I did for her.

I can feel my hands shaking as the road becomes blurry. I can't stop the tears when I think about going home knowing nothing will be the same.

I don't know what happened after that. Whatever happened, happened fast and I can only recall a red car harshly lit by my headlights. I'm stopped on the side of the highway, still clutching the wheel and my foot on the brake. I jerk it into park and I lose control of myself.

I don't notice anyone opening the car door until I feel hands on me. They shake me just a little and call my name, but the voice sounds so far away. I can't breathe.

I see the hands directly in my face and a loud clap resignates throughout the car. Suddenly, all my senses rush back to me.

"Casey... Oh God... Are you okay?" Her voice is sweet and panicked, even more so when I don't respond. I stare at her, confused as I try to catch my breath.

She gently pulls me out of the car and continues to fuss over me. "I saw that car pull right out in front of you. The son of a bitch just drove off... Casey, are you with me?"

I nod, slightly dumbfounded that Alex Cabot is playing rescuer when just hours before she was ready to tear me to pieces simply for being in her way. She scans my face as I lick my lips and fix my gaze on my car. I easily escape her grasp and walk to the front bumper. The only thing I can think of is Jay's reaction when he finds out I crashed his car. I'm stumped when I see an intact grill. There's no damage. I look up at Cabot, who is standing where I left her and already looking at me.

"I didn't hit that car?"

"No. It was close, but you didn't hit anyone. You spun out, though. You're lucky."

"Yeah," I scoff, eyes glued to the black hood. "Real fuckin' lucky."

She walks around the side of the car until we're side by side and I'm put off by her change of attitude. I can't read her expression when she turns to me, but I find her soft smile alarming.

"You look like you could use a drink."

* * *

**Next time**: better A/C moments as the dismissive Stabler and why-are-you-here Alex are explained further. And some other stuff I haven't fully thought out yet. Thanks for reading/hope it didn't suck!


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